


Completing the Rite Mission

by truebluemoon



Category: Original Work
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/F, Lust at First Sight, Magic, May/December Relationship, Opposites Attract, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Space Opera
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-02 13:00:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20276305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truebluemoon/pseuds/truebluemoon
Summary: When Locean mercenary Myritza is hired to bodyguard the young princess of Traecoir in her journey to complete The Rite, a once in a hundred years event, she gets more than she's bargained for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Adriette.

Adriette steps up to the cliff. She grabs the knife that’s hanging from her belt and brings it to her hand. She cuts the flesh and watches as the crimson substance drops from her palm to the murky waters below. A deep rumbling from below unsteadies her balance, tipping her sideways. She falls through the cracks, down, down, _down_, and the world swallows her whole.

And she wakes up. Startled, she grabs her wrist tightly, needing to grasp something solid. She needs to know that this is real and not still a dream. The last thing she remembers is the heavy feeling of falling. She swallows. It’s an ominous dream to have before her trip, before The Rite. It felt so vivid, too.

Adriette forces herself to her feet despite the remnants of sleep tugging her limbs towards the floor. She goes to her vanity and looks herself in the mirror.

There are no bags under her deep burgundy-brown eyes, even if she felt she slept little. Those eyes look to the alarm clock, the time flashing across its small screen. **6:45 AM**: a full two hours before it’s scheduled to ring. She decides to take the opportunity to get ready early.

She pulls her thick black hair into a pony tail, and she slides on her purple tunic, its front dangling down over her legs in two twin triangles. Her pants underneath are a simple brown, only a few shades darker than her skin, and her boots come over the fabric in a thick grey Yarlon leather and are laced along the sides. She takes a moment to smooth down the clothing, hoping that it’ll be warm enough for the journey. She hears that they keep the ship freezing when it travels through space. She wants to be warm, to be comfortable before The Rite.

Her sigh becomes a shudder, as she remembers her duty.

She feels the walls close in on her. She reaches out to clutch the edge of the vanity’s table. She can’t breathe. She tries to force breath in, only for it to escape her lungs. It’s shallow and sharp, like pinpricks when she’s doing needlework. The needles stab at her flesh, and she’s about to succumb.

_It’ll all be over soon_, she reminds herself. She won’t have to worry anymore. Or feel cold anymore. And her family will be safe. Her people will be safe. May all past Ritists give her strength. May her late mother give her strength.

Still, it’s a cold comfort.

_There’s a way out_, the traitorous part of her brain says. _You just have to be motivated enough to take it._

She goes to the dining room, to eat breakfast before she’s to depart.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Myritza.

Myritza has stood waiting at the docks since sunrise. She continues to wait there for the Princess of Traecoir to arrive. While she stands by, she goes through the plan over and over. She’s to escort the princess, guarding her virtue, during their journey by ship. They’re to make a couple stops along the way, at Kondu and Erzu, before they finally make it to the planet Xarl. Then, the Princess is to do The Rite, whatever that entails. Myritza really has no idea what any of that means as a mercenary with no ties to the kingdom. She only knows what she’s heard thirdhand.

She knows that every hundred years or so a Princess of Traecoir is sent to Xarl to complete The Rite. She must be a virgin in order to do so, though she’s not sure why that must be a requirement. It seems odd, like the archaic mores of yesteryear have reared their ugly head. Who even expects anyone to be a virgin anymore? What are they even defining as a “virgin” anyways? No penetration? No sex at all?

She wonders if the girl’s had suitors that she’s had to give up, in order to be right for this damned ritual. It can’t have been easy. Myritza isn’t sure what she would have done, if she were in her shoes. She’s had so many lovers she’s lost count.

But then again, she’s not paid to have opinions. She’s paid to guard the princess. To shut it and take orders. And a fine payment it is. She can afford to stuff it for the month-long journey.

It’s then that the royal procession arrives. Of the three kingdoms on the planet Lançais, Traecoir is the largest and the most powerful. Not just in riches or technology, but in magic as well. And if one had no idea they’re the most significant kingdom, the procession makes that clear. A large band precedes it, announcing their arrival with dozens, or maybe tens of dozens, of metal wind instruments, each blaring for attention from the audience. Small instruments that look like tubes, large instruments that loop around their bodies, even weirder instruments she’s never seen before. Next to them are the drummers on either side, wielding large sticks to hit the hollow steel drums in front of them. Banners of various sizes are streamed, and multi-colored confetti is erupted. They sparkle in the air as they fall, reflecting the generous amounts of sunlight.

She wonders why they bother with such a performance. They’re only meeting a guardswoman and the ship’s crew. It’s not like they’re greeting a foreign dignitary. 

It takes several minutes before she even sees the royal family themselves. First, an older man decked out in purple and gold comes into view. That must be the king. It’s not long before she spots the two young girls and a boy trailing behind him. She was told the oldest would be her charge. Her gaze falls on the taller of the girls. She’s dressed in brown and a similar shade of purple. She’s tall for a Lançais, though still much shorter than Myritza. The princess turns her head.

And she’s looking straight at her. Dark eyes are pouring into her vision and soon that’s all she can see. Just two deep, dark circles staring into hers. They’re brown. No, they’re purple. No, brown. They’re impenetrable yet reveal everything in her gaze.

Then, the contact breaks, and Myritza shakes her head. She shifts in her stance, suddenly feeling the weight of her jumpsuit and gear.

The oldest princess turns to her sister and brother. It’s then that she notices that the smaller one is crying. She can’t even hear her sobs at first, but then it gets louder. Soon, she’s shrieking, shaking her arms up and giving no care to those who can hear her. It’s odd to Myritza, since she looks a little old to be throwing such a fit. If she were her older sister, she would have given her a slap on the wrist, at the very least. The oldest princess, however, dries the girl’s tears with her handkerchief and kisses her on the cheek so tenderly.

She’s just close enough to hear that she’s talking to her, but she can’t quite make out the words. Hopefully, she’s speaking some sense into the girl.

Then, the princess turns to the ship and makes her way towards it. The docks are thick with Lançais wood, probably some variety specific to Traecoir. It’s a dark brown marbled with green veining. It feels sturdy under their feet, but Myritza knows that even feelings can be deceiving.

She smiles at Myritza, a bright, charming smile. “Why hello, you’re to be my guard, then?” She offers her her hand.

“Yes,” Myritza says and looks down at her hand. She takes it and gives it a shake.

The princess’s smile falters but then brightens once more. “My name is Adriette. I expect you to use it, especially since we’re to spend a lot of time together.”

It seems awfully familiar for her to use her name as thus, but she nods. “Very well, Adriette.” She sounds it out with her mouth, feeling each syllable as it escapes her lips.

The captain Rah Kanvier comes out via catwalk. Myritza doesn’t turn to look at him, her eyes still on Adriette. “Ah! Princess Adriette! What an honor to have you abroad my ship.” She can see him grinning out of the corner of her eyes.

“Captain Rah, is it?” She smiles, offering him her hand. He takes it in his own and kisses it. Suddenly, Myritza wonders if she was supposed to kiss her hand.

“Yes, Rah Kanvier is my name; don’t wear it out!” He chuckles and turns to Myritza. His smile falls. “Well? Are you waiting for the sun to burn out? Fetch Her Highness’s things.”

“It’s alright,” Adriette says. “I can get my suitcases myself.”

“No,” Myritza disagrees. “It’ll go faster if I do it.”

“You dare argue with the princess?” Captain Kanvier says through gritted teeth.

“I don’t argue; I suggest,” She corrects him. “And I remind you that I am not one of Traecoir’s subjects.”

His face contorts in anger. “If I see you stealing your dirty Locean hands into the princess’s possessions, I will not balk at cutting your hand clean off.” Ah, the old “call the Locean a thiever” standby. Here she thought they were too far from her planet’s system to hear such a thing. Surprises happen everyday it seems.

“Here I thought you _wanted_ me to get my hands on Adriette’s possessions.” He did tell her to fetch her things, after all.

Adriette smirks, perhaps in amusement. “That is true. Perhaps, you might have my permission to do so after all.” She didn’t know the princess could tease so. “Among other things.” She thinks she imagined it, but she might have winked at her.

Is she flirting with her? Myritza blinks thrice, quickly. _No, that makes no sense_. She’s just a lowly guard and a Locean guard at that. And _she’s_ a princess.

To Captain Kanvier’s credit, he recovers remarkably, straightening his posture and letting his face fall to neutral position. It’s as if he didn’t lose his temper at all. “Well, I think it’s time we board, anyhow. If you do not mind, Your Highness.”

“As you say,” Adriette says with a nod. She looks to her. “You have my permission to help me with my suitcases.”

Myritza follows her to the pile of suitcases by the royal family. They’re all adorned with gold threading, weaved alongside the zippers and into the cloth of the exterior. There must be about eight in all, in various sizes and shapes. Myritza starts by taking two of the larger suitcases, while Adriette grabs one of the smaller ones. Then, they start loading the suitcases onto the cart, Myritza always doing two at a time as Adriette does one at a time. They make quick work of it, only taking about twelve minutes or so.

It’s when they’re finishing up that the youngest princess runs to them.

“Adri, don’t go!” She cries out.

Adriette sighs and crouches down, setting her height just below her sister’s. “Oh, Jasmin, I have to.”

“But- but-” She stutters.

“Stay here and be a good girl for me, won’t you?” She asks her.

Jasmin just looks at her a while, before she finally nods. Her governess is beside her now and dragging her away. She can see tears staining her small face.

Adriette stands and looks to the captain and Myritza. She smiles, but her smile is sad. She must know she’s going to miss her family, Myritza figures. “We’re ready to head out soon, yes?”

“Ready when you are,” He states.

An older woman is now before them, and Myritza is surprised she didn’t even notice her walk this way. She’s decked out in a long, flowing – but rather thin - dress of dark blue and gold that cinches at the highest point of her waist, just below her breasts. She wears a silky blue headscarf on her head, and she carries two large bags. Her mascara is thick as her eyes open and close. Her lips are painted red as they move. “His Highness sends me to keep watch over the journey. A chaperone, if you will.” She looks to Myritza and the captain. “I am Madamé Giteau. And my companion you can call Becile.”

Another, younger woman trails behind her, juggling about two bags and a suitcase in her arms. She’s dressed more simply – and rather more practically for the ship. She wears a couple layers, at the very least, of what looks to be very thick fabric.

“I understand,” Adriette says. “I so rarely see you at court nowadays, Madamé. It would do me a service for you to accompany me.”

“Is everyone ready?” Captain Kanvier asks. “If this _is_ everyone?”

_I don’t know. Maybe a few dozen more. The more the merrier_, Myritza thinks but doesn’t say. Her sarcasm is to be the death of her if she says it. She hears these people don’t take insubordination very well, and she’s already tested her luck by disagreeing with the princess.

“Oh, I think so,” Giteau says.

“Madamé, are you sure you do not want to bring the whole palace with you?” Adriette remarks. Myritza is startled by the princess’s snark, especially since Giteau is bringing less luggage than the princess anyhow and only one person. _You’re one to talk_. “If my father is not trusting me on my own.”

“That is up to you and your behavior, no?” Giteau asks. “I only go where I am required.”

Myritza clears her throat, trying to signal to everyone that they’re wasting time. They need to move on if they want to start early enough.

Adriette gets the message, as she turns and enters the ship, pushing the luggage cart in front of her. Myritza and the rest follow her inside the ship. The catwalk lifts and retracts into the base once everyone’s on.

Adriette looks to Myritza and smiles. Myritza almost smiles back but stops herself. She can’t let herself get too familiar with the princess. This isn’t Loce. Propriety is necessary.

Even so, she can’t stop the way her heart thumps hard in her chest, loud enough for only her to hear.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adriette.

Adriette is introduced to the rest of the passengers, including the crewmembers. The names all swarm her mind, and it’s difficult to keep track of who is who. It’s easier when she associates their name with their role on the ship. Wick is the first mate. Jayke is in charge of taking inventory. And so on.

Still, her mind wanders to her Locean guardswoman. During introductions, she finds her name is Myritza. It’s not a name she’s ever heard before. She’s very tall, though that’s probably short for a Locean. She has the typical Locean dark markings on her skin, as well as the orange skin underneath, though she hears some of them can have maroon skin instead. And those glassy caramel brown eyes! She can’t see her muscles underneath the black jumpsuit, but she imagines they must be firm. Mercenaries are usually fit, aren’t they?

If the plan residing at the back of her mind goes well, she might get to see those muscles. With the added benefit of getting herself out of The Rite. Good thing her guard is attractive.

Myritza is going to protect her, in more ways than one.

“Quite the crew we have here,” She says to her idly, watching her bend down to tie her shoes.

She grunts in response.

“It will be good to have company,” Adriette continues. “It gets so lonely at the castle.”

She doesn’t reply, simply finishes tying her shoes, and she stands up.

“Are you enjoying yourself so far?” She tries again, to no avail. The guardswoman just looks at her.

Adriette chuckles awkwardly. “Not one for small talk, are you?”

She frowns. “No.” 

“Then, you’ll have to learn,” She says with a smile. “You’ll find my people are adept at it: the art of conversation.”

“If you want,” She answers.

Gods, it’s like trying to get through to a brick wall. She hopes she’s better in bed than she is at small talk. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Myritza.

The trip begins with a crisis.

All Myritza knows, at first, is that she hears screaming. She runs towards the source, followed by a few members of the crew. When she finally reaches it, she feels herself pulled in. The airlock has been opened, and the couple of people – the princess and one of the crewmembers- who were unlucky enough to be nearby are holding on for dear life. The princess is probably the worse off, since her feet are practically outside the ship.

Myritza immediately springs into action, holding onto whatever she can with one hand – be it pole, ridge, or heavy furniture – and grabbing onto Adriette with the other. She pulls her away from the airlock. “Hold onto me!” Myritza yells. When she follows her instruction, she lets go of her and reaches for the airlock to close the door. 

Due to its size, she expects it to be heavy, but it’s actually pretty light. She closes it without much issue. The remaining crewmember falls to the ground, without any force pulling him towards the airlock.

The crewmembers who followed her there check to see if their crewmember is alright, before shuffling off to continue their duties. Adriette, however, is looking at Myritza like a carimer that got the cream (which is kind of an odd expression, since when would such a beast have access to cream?).

“You alright?” Myritza asks, nearly grabbing her by the shoulders. She resists the impulse. This isn’t one of her brothers-in-arms for Spirits’ sake.

“Oh, do not worry about me,” Adriette scoffs. “You did quite the heroic feat there, saving me and Maria.”

Myritza can only shrug at that. If it wasn’t her, someone else would have come along and shut the airlock.

“Then, I suppose I’ll have to reward you,” Adriette says, fluttering her eyelashes.

“I’m only doing my job guarding you,” She points out.

“Even so, you have gone above and beyond the call of duty,” the princess says and unbuttons her shirt until her cleavage is revealed. “_That _deserves compensation.”

Myritza blinks rapidly several times, gawking at her breasts like some kind of pubescent boy. She realizes then, that she can just not look. She forces her gaze away, focusing on her face.

“What is wrong? Do you not like women?” Adriette asks, tilting her head.

“I like women,” She states. In fact, she _only_ likes women. She’s only ever considered being with women. She expects, if she ever marries, it’ll be to a woman. Adriette probably doesn’t have that luxury, being the princess of a sovereign nation.

“Then what is the problem?” She takes a step towards her.

Myritza considers taking a step back, but, then, she figures that would be cowardly. She instead keeps her attention on her face, with the curl of her smile and the come hither look in her eyes. She reminds herself that this is the freaking Princess of Traecoir. She’s going to stay a virgin. She’s going to do The Rite. Then, she’s going to go home and get married off and produce heirs. Adriette will still be a princess. And Myritza will still be a dirt poor Locean mercenary.

“You know what the problem is,” She says, forcing out each syllable.

Adriette takes another step towards her. “What? Are you going to say you have to do your duty or some cliché like that?”

Myritza just nods.

“What if I say your duty is to sleep with me?” She asks.

“You and I both know that’s not my duty,” She responds.

“Do you know? Maybe I can educate you on the matter.” Adriette suddenly smirks at her. “Oh, don’t you worry about me being inexperienced. I know how to please.”

“It would please me if you left me alone,” She retorts. “And, besides, aren’t you supposed to be a virgin?”

“I have fooled around enough to know how to pleasure someone,” She says with a mischievous smile. “It’s not my fault they always stop me before I can lose my virginity.”

Myritza is tempted to ask what they’re even defining as virginity. But that would just be walking right into her trap. Instead, she grunts and turns around and leaves her there. She is not doing this.

“You are not going to get rid of me that easily,” She calls out as Myritza exits the room.

She’s sure that’s true. She can’t decide to get rid of her, but she can decide what to do with her while she_ has_ her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Myritza.

The rest of the week is a series of misadventures. Each day seems to start the same. The princess gets herself into danger. Myritza saves her. Adriette insists she rewards her with sex. Myritza refuses. Reduce, reuse, recycle, repeat.

Myritza worries non-stop that someone will figure out what’s happening and get her in trouble for fraternizing with the princess. She even tells Adriette that she should stop before they both get into trouble, but the girl is undeterred. It must be her youth that makes her so single-minded. Still, she’s supposed to be an adult. If someone tells one “no” several times, one should be mature enough to accept the answer.

What breaks up the monotony is that Friday, when she shouts for her during her shower. The moment she gets to the private bathroom and opens the door, thinking she’s fallen or broken the window or something, she readies herself to rescue her. Instead, she looks away from the sight. The princess has gotten out of the shower and is completely naked in front of her.

“This is new,” Myritza comments dryly,

“There’s no towel,” Adriette claims.

“Is this another plan to seduce me?” She questions.

“That depends. Is it working?” She asks with a tilt of her head.

“You’re spilling,” Myritza says, pointing to the shampoo bottle on its side, its contents pouring out onto the floor of the shower.

It takes her a minute before it comes to her what she means. Then, the realization seems to startle her, and she turns to the shampoo. She scoops up the falling substance with her hands and steadies the bottle onto its bottom.

By the time she turns back to her, Myritza is already gone, off to get her a towel.

The hallways are small and confined, much like the rest of the ship. If Myritza were any taller, her hair would brush against the ceiling of the halls. She suspects the ship was not designed with very tall people in mind. Most of her kind would probably hit their heads on the doorframes, but her height is just short enough to make it work.

On the way, she bumps into Giteau. The woman is dressed more simply today, but the fabric of her attire is still much too thin for the cold air.

“Hel_lo_. Just the Locean I wanted to see,” Giteau greets her.

“Well, you see me,” She says, taking her literally, before moving to go around her.

“Wait, just a minute,” She stops her. “I have something I need you to do for me.”

“I’m already-” But she’s interrupted.

“I need you to find me a hair dryer,” She commands her.

“I’m not your-” She tries, only to be cut off again.

“Also, while you’re at it,” She orders, “ask the captain when we’re to arrive at Kondu.”

Myritza opens her mouth again to speak but doesn’t get to.

“Thank you ever so much for your service,” She smiles. “Traecoir and I have much to appreciate you for.”

That’s an odd statement. She’s about to ask when Gitaeu passes her by. “Why-” Unfortunately, she doesn’t get to complete the question.

“Ta-ta,” She interrupts, her figure retreating.

She groans internally. She’s supposed to be a big bad mercenary, not an errand girl.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myritza.

When Myritza has some free time, she borrows some paper from storage. She would have brought some onto the ship herself, but she decided to pack light. She wouldn’t want to get slowed down by having so much luggage. She doesn’t even have that many possessions to bring, anyways. She doesn’t have the disposable income to waste on trinkets.

She sits herself down in the parlor adjoined to Adriette’s quarters.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots an example of such a trinket. It’s a necklace, inlaid with large blue and purple gemstones. She’s never seen Adriette wear jewelry, not like she’s seen the other royalty and nobles of Traecoir wear. For that matter, she notices she sticks to practicality over flourish, which she can appreciate. No makeup, no jewelry, just thick clothes suitable to the journey. She makes a stark contrast to the Madamé. Which makes it weird that she has such a necklace with her.

She shakes off the thought and picks up the nearest pencil. She starts by making faint lines. When she sketches, she doesn’t usually have something in mind, at least not in the beginning. She just lets her pencil wander, and the result turns out to be something in some vaguely familiar shape. So she lets the pencil wander, and her mind guides her hand. She starts out vague, drawing larger overall geometry.

She pauses to take a look after a while. The form seems to be a head.

She decides to add some details. An eyes. A nose. A charming smile. It takes her about an hour to finish, and, when she stops to take it in, she realizes she’s drawn Adriette. It’s not quite a perfect likeness. The nose is a little off. Adriette’s nose curves up while the nose on the page curves down. Her lips are fuller. Still, it looks enough like her that she can feel a heat creep up her neck.

She hears the door slide open. She hears a clunk, a clang, a few thuds. “What are you doing?”

She quickly hovers down over the drawing to cover it, pencil still in hand. “Nothing.”

“Are you drawing?” Adriette asks. “I did not know you were an artist!”

“I’m not,” She disagrees.

“Oh, do not be modest,” She says. “You will have to draw me something sometime, yes?”

“If you ask me to, I will,” Myritza tells her, simply relieved she didn’t look at what’s on the paper.

“But do you want to?” She asks her.

She doesn’t know what to say to that. No one has asked her what she wanted in years. It’s certainly a strange feeling to be asked that by a princess, of all things.

“That doesn’t matter,” She replies.

“Maybe it matters to me,” Adriette says.

“Then, yes,” She says. She does want to.

Adriette leaves it at that, much to Myritza’s relief. She doesn’t want her to taint the moment with another empty proposition. Maybe Adriette has the same thought, since she neither demands sex nor undresses herself. She just stays for a while, straightening out the room, before leaving her to do as she wishes. Myritza takes the opportunity to make a couple much needed changes to the picture before finishing it up.

She hides the drawing somewhere safe.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Myritza.

Kondu is a planet of extremes. Most of it is made up of desert, whether cold or hot. There are some patches of non-desert lands, but the majority is uninteresting. At least, uninteresting to Myritza. She’s only been to the planet a couple times, and she remembers neither occasion very well. Most of the rest of crew seems to agree with her, a few of them even grumbling about it over breakfast. It’s probably why they’re only scheduled to be there for one day and night. And, it’s significant to note that by day and night, one means a _Kondu_ day and night. Its days are among the shortest of the planets in this system.

She hears more grumbling as they dock and ready the catwalk.

Adriette runs out too fast for Myritza to stop her. She picks up the pace but doesn’t run after her. She’s not worried that she’ll go too far.

“Woah! Look at all this,” Adriette says, stretching her arms out. “Myrie, do you see this?”

““Myrie?”” Myritza repeats to herself, puzzled. Is she trying to make nicknames happen?

“The air is so dry here,” She says.

“It _is_ a desert,” Myritza states.

“It’s amazing!” She twirls in place, tilting her face up at the sky.

_If she thinks_ this_ is amazing, wait ‘till she sees Erzu._ She keeps the remark to herself and just watches her look around. She doesn’t want to spoil the moment with her commentary.

“Do you want to go into the village?” Myritza asks.

“There is a village?” She stops and turns her head to look at her.

“It’s along the river,” She tells her. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Adriette trails behind her as they head towards it. All the sapient lifeforms living there immigrated from other planets and clustered around the few water sources to exist on the planet. All civilization on Kondu are small pockets rather than bustling cities. It’s one of the reasons ships tend to stop there out of stocking up on supplies, not for pleasure. It takes only a short walk to one of such pockets of civilization. It’s a small village Myritza forgot the name of.

Various small houses and short buildings dot the region, all adjacent to a flowing river. It’s a little less dry here, but her throat is still parched. She grabs the water bottle strapped to her belt and takes a swig.

“What should we see first?” She asks Myritza.

She wracks her brain for things to do. “We could peoplewatch. Or visit landmarks. I really don’t remember the last time I was here.” It’s difficult, since there really isn’t much on the planet. The village itself doesn’t appear to have any events going on, from what she can see.

Adriette points to a mountain in the distance. It probably looks farther than it is, but it’s still several meters away. “Let’s go there! I’ve never hiked before.”

“Are you sure?” Taking a sheltered princess up a mountain seems like a recipe for disaster. She doesn’t keep in shape the way Myritza does. “You could come back here another time and hike then.”

“That will be impossible,” She replies, “so we should go now. Please?”

Myritza sighs, but, before she leads her towards the mountain, she checks in with the ship. Her communicator’s signal is faint, but she manages to send a message that Adriette is alright and that they’ll hike up the mountain by the village. She hopes they can figure out which village she means without a name. With that, they head on out.

The trip to the mountain is a trek in of itself. The atmosphere is hot and dry, and it takes all of Myritza’s willpower to avoid drinking too much of her water. She knows she’ll need it for the hike, but that doesn’t make it any less difficult. She finds herself glancing over at Adriette, wondering when she’ll want to turn back.

They get to the mountain in twenty-one minutes, give or take. They take a breather, before they start up the path. She watches Adriette gulp down her water. She can already hear the complaints of thirst.

However, as they go up the mountain, she doesn’t hear any whining. Adriette doesn’t say a thing as they hike. Myritza turns her attention to her own two feet, wondering why she hasn’t asked to head back yet. She manages to get about halfway up, before she decides to take another break. She takes a sip of her water, still conserving most of it. “I’m impressed you-” Her eyes search for Adriette, but she’s nowhere to be found.

It doesn’t take long for her to realize she’s left Adriette behind. She turns back to find her. She walks until she sees her on the ground, curled up and coughing her lungs out.

She can’t even breathe at the sight of it. Myritza immediately runs to her, her water container in hand. She crouches down in front of her and forces the opening of the container to Adriette’s lips. She dips Adriette’s head back. She can only hope she’s not too late. “Come on, come on…”

Finally, she shifts and pushes herself to her knees, letting out the occasional lingering cough.

“You should have said something,” Myritza scolds her, her heart still pounding from the scare.

“I am sorry,” She manages. She coughs again. “Maybe we should turn back.”

She nods. “I think that’s the best idea either of us have had all day.”

Myritza throws Adriette’s arm over her shoulder. Adriette’s short enough that it’s uncomfortable but not futile. Her own arm wraps around the bend of her waist. She slowly helps her walk back down the mountain. Myritza has very little water left, and what little water remains she gives to Adriette. She figures she needs it more.

She contacts the ship, asking for one of those hover vehicles to come get them at the base of the mountain. Most luxury ships have them for emergencies. She doesn’t want to risk Adriette’s condition getting worse. She would have had them wait on the mountain, but hovercrafts aren’t good for extremely elevated ground. No, it’s the wiser choice to go down the mountain and wait there.

She has Adriette sit down as they wait. It takes a while, since the ship has no way of knowing their exact coordinates. Still, a hovercraft arrives in about half an hour, circling around the mountain and eventually heading towards them. She helps Adriette into the backseat, and they strap themselves in. One of the crewmembers is the driver.

The hover vehicle accelerates and speeds off towards where the ship is docked. Myritza watches out the window as they pass the base of the mountain, then follow along the river. The village looks a little busier than when they saw it last. She sighs with a frown.

Suddenly, she senses something collide with her shoulder. She peers over to see Adriette’s head resting on her. She has completely knocked out. Myritza’s mouth twitches once, twice, and the momentary smile leaves her face.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Becile.

Becile is walking down the halls adjoining the common room to the quarters. It’s been an exhausting journey thus far, and she’s unsure it’s going to get any easier. But she reminds herself it’ll soon be over. Then, she can get back to serving her Madamé at the estate. So many acres of land, all to themselves. Thankfully, Harienne never married, so there were never any men to interrupt their time together. Hopefully, it’ll stay that way.

Speaking of her mistress, “Oh, I do not know what I’m to do with the girl.”

She stops at the sound of her voice. What girl? The princess?

“Can’t you speak to her?” Her Highness! Their voices seem to be coming from the Madamé’s quarters. She really shouldn’t be listening in. She should keep walking and leave them to their private conversation. But she takes a step closer to the wall.

“And say what? That her years of service mean nothing to me in comparison to a piece of jewelry? This is not the first time she has lost something of mine either.”

The necklace. That blasted necklace. She bit her lip. She knew that would come back to haunt her. She didn’t _mean_ to lose it. It just, you know, got _lost_. Harienne Giteau has so many things, after all. It’s hard to keep track of them all. She leans towards the halls’ thin wall to hear better.

“So you will replace her, yes? Get a new head lady-in-waiting?” And it’s just as she’s feared.

“I suppose I will have to,” She says. “When I return, I’ll start looking for someone to take on her role. Oh, how exhausting.”

Becile gasps. Did all those days by the lake, rowing the boat, fetching her towel, skinny-dipping with her, mean nothing? All those times she dressed her, undressed her, and dressed her again… Who would she replace her with anyhow? Rochelle, who’s had the pox thrice? Roquelle, who’s married with three kids? There’s no one up to the task but Becile.

She can’t be replaced. She won’t.

She has to take action.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giteau.

The door opens, and Madamé Harienne Giteau doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s her lady-in-waiting Becile.

“Becile, go tell the plumber or engineer whoever fixes these problems that my water heater is not working.” She sighs and fans her chin. “Argh, the incompetence. It’s as if whoever built this place _wanted_ it to fall apart.”

She hears a couple soft footsteps, but then they stop.

“Is there anything _else_… I can do for you?” Becile’s voice quivers, and it sounds suspiciously like the time she held Becile’s prized watch over the balcony railing.

She finally turns around to look at her, and her eyes are delighted by the sight of her little handmaiden almost entirely naked. Becile is pulling off the last of her garments, her bra and her briefs.

“Something closer to home?” She can’t help the smile that spreads her lips. “Well, I have been stressed as of late.” Becile starts to advance, but then Giteau shakes her head. “You stay there. Do you think you’ve earned the privilege to touch me?”

“But what about that time at the lakehouse-”

“So we’ve slept together before. That does not mean you get to touch me _now_.” She leans against the table, the edge pressing firmly against her ass. She points down to the floor. “Get down on your hands and knees.”

Becile obeys.

“Beg for it,” Madamé Giteau orders.

“Please-” Becile is shivering, and small wonder with how freezing they keep the ship. It may as well be Mont de Morten. She clutches at her arms and rubs them up and down.

“Hands at your sides,” She tells her. “Or do I have to get the whip?”

“M-maybe I deserve it, Madamé,” She whispers. “The whip.”

Whether or not that’s true, she didn’t pack it. She instead looks her over, considering every nook and cranny of her body. Her breasts are small, just as she remembers them being. The little nipples that forms their peaks are also small, barely bigger than a Traecoir coin. Giteau circles to her backside. Her body is lightly curved, just barely. She’s often teased her for not having a woman’s curvature, but she secretly craves the chance to trace them with her hands.

She raises a foot and presses it down on Becile’s back. Becile relents, falling forward with the pressure. “Please- Please, Madamé-”

“Please what?” She presses her foot down further. “Use your words.”

“Use me for what you will, but d-do _use_ me.” She’s shaking again, and Giteau snarls.

“You dare give me orders?” She removes her foot and grabs her by the hair. Her answering moan of pain just urges her on. “You little fool,” She whispers in her ear. She reaches down and tugs at the tufts of hair between her legs. One finger curls out and into her cunt.

Becile’s next sound isn’t in pain. Giteau curls her finger inside her, pressing onto nerves that she knows are driving the girl wild from the way she thrashes her head about. She increases the pressure, pressing harder and harder.

“P-please!” Is all she can sputter out.

Giteau leans in, pressing her face into her hair. “Quiet, Becile. These walls are thin. I will not have word spreading that I fuck my servants.”

“_Yes!_” But then she realizes her mistake and repeats herself. “Yes.” This time it’s much softer. “S-sorry.”

“Oh, you little fool, you little idiot,” She murmurs into her ear.

She gasps out another apology, rocking back and forth into Giteau’s eager hand. Giteau answers by going faster and rougher. Part of her is tempted to stretch it out, make her suffer for it, but, on the other hand, she grows so bored of waiting for the climax. She goes forward to grind her body against Becile’s backside, her arm awkwardly shifting in position as she does so.

“Ahh, I want-” She groans, tilting her head back. “I _want_-”

Finally, she comes all over her hand.

“Now, what do you want, pet?” She whispers in her ear.

“You,” Becile whispers. “As always. _You_.”

Giteau crawls toward her front. She reaches down and lifts her dress for her. “Then, prove it.”

Becile’s eyes widen as her hands find her underwear. She plucks at the waistband, and it snaps into her skin. She tries again, sliding it down Giteau’s legs, this time successfully. She gently pushes Giteau down to the carpet, and she doesn’t push back against this measure of control.

Becile lowers herself between her legs as they spread apart for her. “I love you, Madamé.”

Giteau rolls her eyes. “Do not stall. I do not need your flattery. I need you to pleasure me.”

Becile obeys, placing sloppy, passionate kisses on the lips between Giteau’s legs.

Her chin tilts up as the lips on her face release a soft moan. “Harder,” She commands her lady-in-waiting.

Becile presses harder against her clit, flicking her tongue against it wildly. She misses a few times, but Giteau supposes she has to sacrifice a little accuracy for speed and power. Becile continues, trying her best to fuck her as hard as she wants. A few more flicks, and she has Giteau moaning her name despite all of Giteau’s best efforts to be quiet.

“Inside me,” She says, and Becile seems to understand what she’s asking because her tongue is inside her faster than you can say “Madamé.” Her tongue is slow and soft inside her at first, but then it starts to wriggle and curl. And Giteau can’t handle it; she tosses and turns and bites her lip.

“My- My little fool,” She whispers.

This seems to motivate Becile to move her tongue even more, before it suddenly stops, and Giteau gasps out. “What are you doing?” She hisses.

Becile tries to talk, but it just comes out unintelligible with her tongue deep inside her. She gives up on speaking, slowly curling and uncurling her tongue inside her. Giteau bucks her hips, her hands finding purchase on Becile’s shoulders. As her tongue moves inside her, Giteau’s nails dig into her skin, probably leaving marks on her back.

She slowly slides out her tongue and turns her attention back to her clit, taking turns between pressing and flicking with her tongue.

Giteau feels herself getting close, digging her nails in further. She starts to break skin, and she can hear Becile groan against her, her breath brushing against her bits.

It’s not long until Giteau reaches her own climax. She rides it out, feeling it come over her in waves. Her hips are still shaking when Becile backs away from her. She’s sitting on the floor, pulling her legs against her chest. In her excitement, Becile seems to have not noticed her cum was getting all over the carpet. Giteau curls her lips in disgust.

She pushes herself to her knees, sensing more than seeing Becile’s eyes on her.

Giteau pulls on her dress, and she slides her arms into the sleeves. She pulls her hair out from the back of the dress and smooths it over her clothing. “Well, this was informative. You have been getting clumsy, Becile.”

“But, I thought-” But she’s interrupted.

“I am intending on looking for your replacement when I return. Do be a dear, and ensure I don’t have reason to speed up the process.” She turns to leave, tossing her hair back over her shoulder.

“I’ll get you your necklace back,” Becile promises, but Giteau doesn’t reply, just leaves her in her state of undress.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adriette.

Adriette doesn’t see Myritza in either of their quarters, so she asks around and finds that she’s in the gym. It’s not far, and she’s never seen the ship’s gym before so she takes the opportunity to visit. She’s wearing a white shirt and dark purple pants that hug at her legs, not exactly gym clothes but it’s not as though she’s intending on working out.

It’s small, only with about four or five machines. There’s a mirror over one of the walls, reflecting the room, probably so that one can observe their form. Myritza is doing pull-ups on the mat, her eyes on the mirror in front of her.

Adriette doesn’t go to Myritza immediately. She walks around the gym, picking up some of the smaller dumbbells before setting them down. She even tries the treadmill for a minute before she grows bored of that. She finally plops herself down on the mat between Myritza and the mirror.

“Hello,” She says. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Myritza doesn’t reply, probably too into the workout.

Adriette picks up Myritza’s water bottle and looks at the container. She watches the water slosh around inside as she moves it in the air. Soon, she sets it back down on the floor.

She gets up and starts stretching, feeling herself getting a little stir-crazy. She stretches her arms, folding one straight across her and tucking it into the bend of her elbow. She then parts her legs and extends an arm out to her side, bending a little.

“You shouldn’t distract me while I’m working out,” Myritza finally comments.

Adriette bends over fully, wriggling her ass. “Oh _no_! I’m bending over! Whatever will you do?” She laughs then, enough to clutch her sides.

But Myritza ignores her, turns her head and appears to focus on her feet.

She looks her over. Myritza is wearing a sports bra, the most revealing garment she’s ever worn in her presence – a far cry from her jumpsuits. It reveals her thickly knitted biceps, and she takes in the play of her muscles as Myritza moves back and forth from position to position. She must work out a _lot_ to be so fit.

“What is this for?” She points to one of the machines that look unfamiliar to her.

Myritza looks up and follows her finger with her gaze. “That’s- You sit down, back against the rest, and pull on the bars so it’s in front of you. It works out your chest.”

“But you use your arms to pull on it, yes?” She finds herself confused at the explanation.

“Yes,” She says.

“So how does it work out your chest?”

“The strength to rotate those inward is supposed to come from the pectoral muscles,” She explains.

“I see,” Adriette says.

Myritza does several more pull-ups, and Adriette watches her shift from position to position. She must have at least done a dozen here. If she’s counting, she must be doing so quietly, since she can’t hear her saying any numbers.

Finally, she stops and grabs her water bottle. Her head dips back as she takes long swallows of water. Droplets of sweat drip down her face and neck. Adriette follows their paths down her body, along the swell of her breasts and her rock-hard abs. How it would feel to touch her, she considers. To feel her body against hers.

She hands her a towel. “You are wet,” She says with a smile. “Take this.”

Myritza narrows her eyes, as if wondering whether this is meant to be innuendo, but she takes the towel eventually. “Thanks,” She says.

Adriette gives stretching another go before she finally gets bored of that. She leaves Myritza to her workout, humming a tune under her breath. She glances over her shoulder and sees her move on to push-ups. Myritza pauses for a second, looking at her through the reflection on the mirror. Adriette smiles at her, a private smile meant for them and them alone.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Myritza.

Myritza wakes up, hearing a ruckus in the room next to her own. She frowns. Adriette’s room. She launches herself out of bed and breaks out into a run towards the next room. The door to her quarters is already open – not exactly a good sign.

She enters to find Adriette throwing a big cup of water at some intruder. The water then freezes around the person. So this is the famous Tracoir magic she’s heard about.

Myritza presses the button for the lights. Maria, acting as Adriette's maid, is clinging to the wall opposite to all of this.

“Good timing, Myrie, but I had it,” She tells her. Then, she turns to the intruder. “Wait, _Becile_?”

In her hand is that blue and purple necklace she’s seen among her things before. It strikes Myritza as odd that she would take such a risk to steal one of the princess’s belongings, especially one that looks so pricy.

“I never took the Madamé’s lady-in-waiting for a thiever,” Adriette says.

“I was trying to stop _her_!” She points to Myritza. “She’s the thiever!”

Adriette looks from Becile to Myritza back to Becile again. Myritza steels herself for the blame, against all logic. _Does she really believe I’d steal from her?_ Adriette frowns sharply and gets her knife from its place by her books. Myritza swallows. She could easily defend herself against her, but that doesn’t mean she particularly wants to.

Then, she points it at Becile. “You dare frame my guard for your crime?” Adriette takes a step closer to her, brandishing her knife.

Myritza lets out a breath of relief.

Becile raises her hands in surrender. “Sorry! Sorry!”

“You will be,” Adriette points the knife at Becile’s throat threateningly.

“You don’t understand!” Becile exclaims. “I needed that necklace!”

“For what reason?” Adriette tilts her head in curiosity.

“Don’t indulge her,” Myritza advises. There’s always a reason to justify a steal.

“I confess, I’m curious,” and Adriette’s mouth twists in thought as she considers her.

“It started weeks ago. I lost Har- the Madamé _Giteau’s_ necklace. And I overheard her talking to you, saying she might replace me because of it. I just couldn’t deal. And, oh, yours looked so much like it! I swear she wouldn’t be able to tell the difference!”

Her mouth continues to move as she thinks, back and forth, back and forth. Myritza finds herself watching her mouth as it twists, drawn in. Finally, it settles into a smile. She lowers the knife to her side. “I think I have a solution that would benefit all of us.”

“Oh?” Myritza raises a brow.

“The necklace I have was commissioned to a jeweler in Erzu, which is one of our stops. I’ll commission the man to make a replica of my necklace, he’ll send it to us when he’s done, and you’ll give it to your mistress, saying that you found it in her luggage or somesuch. No one will be any the wiser.”

Myritza blinks thrice, silently taking in the plan. It’s certainly not what she expected to hear.

“You… won’t execute me? Or even imprison me?” She asks.

“I think you’ve learned your lesson,” Adriette says, “Besides, I’ve always wanted to take part in an intrigue.”

“But won’t the rest of the crew wonder why you’ve let her go?” Myritza points out.

“Only I, Becile, you, and Maria know, and I dare say you and Maria could lose your jobs if you don’t obey me, yes?” Adriette explains.

“That’s true,” She admits. She does have reason to keep silent on the matter, if Adriette orders her to.

“Besides, Maria barely speaks a word of Lançais,” Adriette adds. “It would be difficult for her to tell Madamé Giteau even if she wanted to.”

“So I’m not in trouble?” Becile’s mouth is still hanging open in shock.

“Make no mistake. I will slit your throat myself if you try to steal that again,” Adriette warns. “My _mother_ had that necklace made for me.” The way she emphasizes “mother” makes Myritza think that’s important, somehow. It’s always odd to hear foreigners be so attached to their parental figures in particular. Most Loceans grow up raised by several people. The majority of Locean languages don’t even have a word for “father” and barely use the term for “birth mother.”

“Right,” Becile nods quickly. “I won’t do it again, I swear it.”

“Good,” Adriette says, satisfied. “Now, leave us.”

Becile obeys, scurrying out the room as fast her little legs can carry her. They watch her go before their eyes look to one another.

Myritza looks her over, seeing her perhaps for the very first time. “You could have had her killed.”

“Yes, I could have,” Adriette says. “But she’s worth more to me alive, yes?”

“What do you mean?” She asks.

“She is one of my subjects,” Adriette explains. “That means something to me. She only failed me once, and that was to help her mistress. If she could put that loyalty into serving the royal family, inspired by my letting her live…”

She thinks she understands. “Then, you’ll have an asset.”

“My family will,” She corrects her, “but yes.”

Adriette truly keeps surprising her.


End file.
